


home for christmas (if only in my dreams)

by susurruses (subsequence)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Christmas, Homesickness, M/M, idolverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 11:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17141294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subsequence/pseuds/susurruses
Summary: It's been years, and Mark still isn't used to how cold it gets in Seoul around Christmas.





	home for christmas (if only in my dreams)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chatovance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatovance/gifts).



> happy holidays aj you little angst gremlin ♡

It's been years, and Mark still isn't used to how cold it gets in Seoul around Christmas. The long, padded coat he has zipped up to his chin takes care of the worst of it, and it's definitely warmer in the restaurant than it is outside, but there's still a chill that feels like it's burrowed into Mark's bones and settled cold and hard in the pit of his stomach.

Then again, he thinks as he stretches his legs out across the empty booth, the cold might not have so much to do with the temperature outside.

He pours himself another cup of the complimentary hot tea the owner always personally brings out and takes a careless gulp. It scalds his tongue and scorches on the way down, but the cold, lonely feeling in his stomach swallows it up as surely as it has every bite of food that's passed his lips since everyone went home for Christmas.

Everyone except Mark.

It's the same as it always is when they finally get a break. He should be used to it by now — hell, he _is_ used to it by now, he has to be, or else he'd just be miserable and alone during the holidays, wouldn't he?

Mark wraps his hands around the cup, hoping some meager warmth might seep through. All he accomplishes is turning his palms and the pads of his fingers a vivid, tingling red.

He slumps back in the booth with a heavy exhale, eyeing the extra portion of corn the owner had brought out. It's not like it was unprecedented. There have been plenty of times when Jackson sent Mark ahead or vice versa, just to make sure they got their corner booth and the food would be there as quickly as possible.

It's not like it was unprecedented, it's just that it feels like a slap in the face when there's no one else coming. Which is a little stupid, for him to feel emotionally wounded by a bowl of corn, but homesickness is apparently a hell of a thing.

He doesn't look up when the bell on the door jingles merrily. It's a little too festive and a little too friendly, and Mark is far too cold for festive or friendly right now.

It's only when footsteps approach the booth, loud and clomping like their owner is begging the universe for attention, that Mark looks up.

And then the footsteps make sense.

"Never gonna get used to this fucking cold," Jackson mutters dramatically, coat rustling and breath huffing and his entire existence taking up more space than any one human should. Just business as usual, for Jackson. "Come on, man, move your legs." Mark lets his legs slip off the seat, making room for Jackson to slide into the booth next to him, just like he always does.

There are layers between them, of thick winter coats and god knows what else, but Mark swears he can feel warmth radiating from Jackson even as he curses and shivers and stomps his feet to get feeling back into his toes.

"What happened to going home for the holidays?" Mark asks.

Jackson pulls a face. "The first snow is romantic and all, but it's not great for planes," he explains.

Mark eyes the fine dusting of white on the ground outside. He highly doubts it would be enough to ground a plane, but he doesn't point it out. They haven't had to use words in a very long time, anyway.

All Mark says is, "You got here just in time. I was about to eat your corn."

He doesn't say, _You got here just in time. I needed you._

Jackson doesn't say, _I know. That's why I came._

Instead, he gasps comically, hand over his heart, as if Mark just informed him he'd been planning the murder of his family. "Is that what all these years of brotherhood mean to you?" he demands. "Not even corn is sacred to you anymore?"

Almost despite himself, Mark can feel a giggle starting to bubble in his chest. It doesn't quite form, not enough momentum yet to shatter the ice built up there — but it's something. It's always something, with Jackson, because he doesn't know how to be any other way. His warmth is almost forceful in its nature. It's the kind that hurts a little when it chases out the cold, the kind that makes blood pump and cheeks tingle and sting.

Sitting beside Jackson feels like sitting at a hearth. It’s not a comparison Mark thinks he ever would have made before — after all, he’d never needed one before. Los Angeles had been plenty warm in every way.

But they aren’t in Los Angeles. They’re in Seoul, and Mark still isn't used to how cold it gets. So, he huddles closer to Jackson and warms himself until finally, he can feel every thump of his pulse again, every shudder of his heart. The heat stings as it chases out the cold, wells up in him and races under his skin, but when he breathes, it fills his lungs with warmth. And the ice starts to melt, and Mark —

Mark isn’t used to how cold it gets in Seoul. But it’s okay, because he doesn’t have to. Not when Jackson is by his side.


End file.
